Vampirism Sucks
by whatxthexhellxisxaxhufflepuff
Summary: "The taste of blood fills my mouth. The first time, but certainly not the last." The process of being thrust into the world of downworlders through the eyes of Simon with the guidance of Raphael. A study in the life of a vampire in New York. Features all main characters eventually.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, so it's been quite some times since I last posted. This is a repost of a story I was previously writing. It's pretty much the same, I'd say. There are just a few minor adjustments.**

**I am also ecstatic to report that last night I saw Mortal Instruments: City of Bones the movie. And I have to say, I'm pretty satisfied. I mean sure a lot was changed, but I already expected that having gone through the book to movie transformation many other times. I think it was a win. **Please don't blast me, if you disagree.**

**Well I might as well stop my rambling and get on with the show.**

**Enjoy the first chapter, because I'm really liking how this story is coming out.**

**Full Summary (Well sort of):**

_Simon hung grimly from his forearm, his sharp rat-teeth sunk deep into the flesh. Raphael let go of Jace, flailing backwards, blood spurting as a stream of Spanish obscenities poured from his mouth._

The taste of blood fills my mouth. The first time, but certainly not the last.

_Regaining his balance, Raphael tore the rat free from his arm and flung him to the floor._

A sudden hot pain shoots up my shoulder. The memory is so fresh in my mind, an invisible wound that will never heal.

"_Enough standing around!" It was Raphael. His arm was streaming blood, his lips curled back from his pointed incisors. He glared at the teeming mass of vampires milling in the confusion. "Seize the trespassers," he shouted. "Kill them both-the rat as well!"_

We were never welcome, so why was I going back?

**Raphael POV**

The ripping, snarling sound makes me grin despite myself. It fills the air with a sudden savagery, as I edge closer.

The pull is undeniable. The smell of blood is intoxicating. I _love_ it.

I can feel my fangs slide out. They poke into my lower lip. The other vampires surround their prey, as they crouch at my feet. The boy lashes out and screams. His attempts at freedom are futile. His future is inevitable or, more so, the end of it.

I stand back from the commotion, but now I step forward to join in on the fun, when my muscles lock, and I freeze in place. My lips pull back from my teeth in a snarl.

The boys face brings back a rather . . . unfortunate memory.

His glasses lay smashed on the ground a few feet away from him. The glass crunches under my brethrens' feet. His brown hair sticks to his skin from the blood and sweat that dampens it.

"Stop!" I yell.

Their heads twitch up to look at me in confusion, but this lasts only a moment. There's too much blood. They're too far-gone. I push through their crouching figures to stand beside the boy.

"Enough!" I bellow, turning to look them all in the eyes.

I block the boy from their view, as they cringe back away from me. But it seems, just as always, Jacob is there to test me. He lunges towards me with outstretched hands and equally lengthened incisors. His lips break with a piercing snarl. I meet his body squarely, as my hands find his throat. With my lips pulling back from my teeth, I thrust him against a wall. He lands with a clatter at its base, pulling more bodies along with him.

"What is it, Raphael?" Lily asks, straightening out of her crouch.

I ignore her. My eyes are intent on the boy. He scoots away from me with the same fear every human has, when they see me like this. When they see me as I am.

He watches me in horror, as I move ever closer to him. I stand over him with a scowl on my face. I crouch down, and grab him by the front of his shirt. His breath cuts off. I lean my face in close to his, searching his eyes.

"You." I sneer.

"Me." His voice is a mere croak.

"What are you doing, Raphael?" Lily asks.

"Quiet, Lily," I snarl over my shoulder, before turning back to him. "What are you doing here?"

But apparently he can only stare, as his body trembles. I suppose my unwavering gaze does not help his nerves, but it is not that which I am concerned with.

"Speak," I say through gritted teeth.

"I-I don't know," he says quickly.

I hiss in impatience. "Did those Shadowhunters send you?"

"N-no."

"Then who?"

"No one," he whispers.

"Speak up!" I snarl, tightening my grip on him.

He cringes, trying to twist away from me, as a whine escapes his mouth. I pull him back close to me.

"Who sent you!"

"No one! No one! I just . . . I just felt like . . . I had to."

I shut my eyes in anger, clenching my jaw. He has tasted my blood, and had his blood tasted in return. The exchange is non-reversal, and only leads to that individual becoming one of us. This boy will be a vampire before the sun comes up.

"Mierda," I hiss.

The others look on with the same confusion and surprise as before. My eyes slide open to look upon the boy once more.

"How do you feel?" I ask.

"Not so great actually," he answers.

His eyelids start to close. I release his shirt from my grasp. He falls limply to the floor.

This cannot be good. I gather him up into my arms and begin walking towards the exit. Lily follows closely behind.

"Raphael, where are you going?" she asks.

"I will be back soon enough. While I'm gone, clean up the blood and make sure everyone is fed. I think there may be cause for celebration."

"Why?"

"We've just earned ourselves a new member."

**Better than the first time reading it or worse? Tell me in a review. If you haven't read it before, tell me your favorite color. Or better yet tell me how you felt about the movie. I'd like to know/discuss thoughts.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I said a week, which should've been yesterday, but I forgot. Maybe a week is too long for me. I might cut the time down from now on. I want to post more quickly, I think.**

**Alright here it is. I'm sorry. I'm tired.**

**Raphael's POV**

I walk towards the towering building. Light leaps out from the windows, splashing across my figure. My shadow casts out behind me, as dark and brooding as my mood.

I step with purpose, for at this moment, that is all I possess. My mind works frantically for answers to my ever-mounting problems. I carry, in my arms, the body of a boy who is about to die. Unfortunately, this boy has gained the friendship of a group of shadowhunters. If it were anyone else, he would already be dead and one of mine.

I suppose I deserve this. I should have killed them when they showed up the first time. It was an unsuccessful event in the least.

I look down at the boy. Blood coats his body. The sweet scent permeates my nose. It's almost comforting in a way. I lean in closer in an effort to feel more of that warmth, but it soon turns cold at the sight of drool leaking from between his lips. I shy away from him with a scowl.

I push through the gate. It creaks open as any old iron gate does, but its screech is not the one to still my progress. The last time I tried walking on sacred ground, I couldn't walk for a day. It was not one of my best moments.

I glance down at the boy again, wondering maybe if I could maneuver him in a way where I could avoid stepping on the ground and instead stepping on . . . him. Maybe not the most practical solution, but it's worth a try.

My first attempt proves that in fact it is not. This one seems to be too floppy. As well as his tendency to drag too much. He's becoming more of a problem than he's worth.

I sigh before making my way down the stone walkway. Thankfully it is rather sacred-less and I am able to make my way safely to the doorstep.

The sound of the doorbell is truly ungodly. A special way of welcoming the ungodly, I assume.

I stand before the door for what seems like centuries. They could, in the least, be gracious enough to tell me to leave immediately if they don't plan on appearing before me. As soon as this thought passes through my mind, the door swings open with a resounding moan.

They peer out at me in a purely idiotic manner. Their eyes take their time travelling from my face down to the almost lifeless boy in my arms.

Humans are so awfully slow.

The redheaded girl opens her mouth, but no sound escapes it. When she falls to her knees, and dramatic, they are so dramatic, the blond one is quick to catch her. I hold back the urge to roll my eyes as well as my venomous tongue.

"**Don't look."**He means for it to be a whisper, but I can hear it all the same.**"For God's sake, don't look."**

Despite his words, her eyes remain locked on her friend. Glancing down at him now, I realize he must look much worse than I thought. Maybe it's the blood. Humans have always been squeamish around blood. I've found it to be bothersome in the past, but it doesn't appear to be the least redeeming quality that humans possess.

The third girl grabs hold of a candelabra and jabs her makeshift spear at me. I can't help the smirk that teases my lips.

"**What have you done to Simon?"**

"**El no esta muerto."**

I place the boy down on the steps.

"**Did you say–."**

"**He isn't dead." **I watch them in annoyance. **"He's not dead."**

Of course not. I just said that. I shake my head in irritation. There's no time for this. He is going to change soon.

The redhead breaks free from the boy's clutches. She reaches out to touch her friend–Simon's–bloodied head.

"**Simon," she whispers, touching his face. "Simon, it's me."**

"**He can't hear you," **I hiss. **"He's dying."**

"**But you said–."**

"**I said he was not dead yet." **I grit my teeth to hold back the foul words that I am about to let loose. **"But in a few minutes–ten, perhaps–his heart will slow and stop. Already he is beyond hearing or seeing anything."**

"**We have to get him to a hospital-–or call Magnus."**

"**They can't do him any good." **I suck in a deep breath. **"You don't understand."**

"**No," **the blond boy says. **"We don't. And perhaps you should explain yourself. Because otherwise I'm going to assume you're a rogue bloodsucker, and cut your heart out. Like I should have done last time we met."**

I smile despite the growl rising to my throat. **"You swore not harm me, Shadowhunter. Have you forgotten?"**

"**I never actually finished the oath."**

"**And I never started,"**the black haired girl says.

"**I remembered that night you broke into the Dumort looking for your friend. It is why I brought him here when I found him in the hotel, instead of letting the others drink him to death. You see, he broke in, without permission, and therefore was fair game for us. But I kept him alive, knowing he was yours."**But soon he will be one of mine. _**"**_**I have no wish for a war with the Nephilim."**

"**He **_**broke**_** in?"**The redhead's disbelief is aggravating, why must they ask so many questions? **"Simon would never do anything that stupid and crazy."**

"**But he did," **I can no longer hold back the smile. **"You might remember that when he was in the form of a rat, and you came to fetch him from us, he bit me."**

"**Very enterprising of him."**My eyes glaze over the blond one. **"I approved."**

"**Perhaps."**I pause for a moment._ "_**In any case, he took some of my blood into his mouth when he did it. You know that is how we pass our powers to each other. Through the blood."**

The redheads mind finally seems to click. **"He thought he was turning into one of you. He went to the hotel to see if it was true."**

"**Yes."**_ Very good_. **"The pity of it is that the effects of my blood would probably have faded over time had he done nothing. But now-."**I gesture towards _Simon_.

"**Now what?" **the black haired girl says. **"Now he'll die?"**

"**And rise again. Now he will be a vampire."**

"_**What?" **_The candelabra falls from her grasp.

"**You're lying,"**says the blond boy after catching it.

"**He consumed vampire blood. Therefore he will die and rise as one of the Night Children. That is also why I came. Simon is one of mine now."**

"**There's nothing that can be done? No way to reverse it?"**

"**You could cut off his head and burn his heart in a fire, but I doubt that you will do that."**

"**No!" **The redhead's arms squeeze Simon tightly. **"Don't you dare hurt him."**

Why would I? This boy has done nothing to provoke me, well besides bite me, but that's beside the point. I do believe that I said that I _don't _want a war with the Nephilim. The absurdity of the comment is bordering on being moronic. Oh how I wish they were not so simple minded.

"**I have no need to."**

"**I wasn't talking to you," **she says. **"Don't you even think about it, Jace. Don't even think about it."**

I suppose she may not be as simple minded as I thought.

"**Clary, what would Simon want? Is this what he'd want for himself?" **the other girl asks.

The redhead's face turns to horror as she looks upon the golden boy. _**"Get away from us," **_she screams.

"**Clary, you don't think-."**

His words are interrupted by a gasp escaping Simon's lips. He sucks in a ragged breath. Yet again, she lets out a yowling scream. I clench my jaw, as Simon's eyes flicker panic in them is alarming in itself. He reaches up towards the girl.

"**It's me," **she says. **"Simon, it's me. It's Clary."**

Ah, so that's her name.

I look on as tears start to stream down her face. I tap my foot impatiently. I try not to snarl in anger.

"**Simon, I love you," **Clary whispers.

His breathing comes to a sharp halt. I watch for their reactions. Horrified. Saddened. Blank. But not disgusted.

How odd.

**You know the drill. Review. Make me feel good about myself. Review, please. Thanks**


	3. Chapter 3

**Installment number three! I was actually planning on posting yesterday, a day early because the previous chapter was a day late, but it, poof, slipped my mind. So here we are. **

**I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this chapter. It's good enough, but there's something missing. Something I want for the story that's not here. Maybe another chapter, right?**

**Oh! And another thing. I forgot a disclaimer. Soooo Cassandra Clare is the God of the Mortal Instruments Series not me. As some may know from my previous writings, which are now deleted, my disclaimers are blanket disclaimers. I'll say it once but not again.**

**)))))**

**Raphael's POV**

"**-and **_**now**_** what are we supposed to do?" **the dark haired one, Isabelle, shrieks.

"**Bury him," **I say lazily.

Jace points the damn candelabra at me once more. **"That's not funny."**

"**It isn't supposed to be." **How stupid can they get? **"It is how we are made. We are drained, blooded, and buried. When he digs his own way out of a grave, that is when a vampire is born."**

Isabelle clenches her teeth. **"I don't think I could do that."**

"**Some can't," **I shrug. **"If no one is there to help them dig out, they stay like that, trapped like rats under the earth."**

I smirk at the irony of my words. You know, because he was a rat before. And it's funny because . . . No? Okay whatever.

"**I won't put him in the ground," **the little redhead, Clary, says with a gagging sob.

Disgusting.

"**Then he'll stay like this." **I glare down at her. **"Dead but not quite dead. Never waking."**

They only stand there. Waiting. Taking up time. Time that is so precious especially at this moment.

Clary clutches Simon as if both their lives depend on it. But what Simon's life really depends on is getting in the ground. Now.

If she really cares for her friend, she'd stop all of this nonsense, and do what is necessary to save his life, before I lose my head and slay them all.

"**You didn't come into the institute because you can't, isn't that right," **Clary says snatching me from my glorious fantasies. **"Because it's holy ground and you're unholy."**

Estás bromeando. Your _friend_ is dying on the ground, and this is what you choose to discuss.

"**That's not exactly-." **I don't want to hear anymore of this.

"**I should tell you that there is not much time. The longer we wait before putting him into the ground, the less likely he'll be able to dig his own way back out of it."**

Clary's eyes cling to Simon's still figure. More waiting, not enough doing. Please, let us go. I am begging you, God, please.

"**We can bury him," **she finally says.

Thank you, Lord. Thank you. With my palms together, I shake my hands. My eyes turn up to the sky.

"**But I want it to be in a Jewish cemetery. And I want to be there when he wakes up."**

My eyes flit to her with an eyebrow raised.

"**It will not be pleasant."**

"**Nothing ever is," **she says. **"Let's get going. We only have a few hours until dawn."**

So now _I'm _the one being time consuming.

I stab the ground endlessly with the shovel head. The _chink _of metal penetrating the ground rings through my ears. I work efficiently and with ease. The duty is hardly unknown to me. It feels almost familiar. I lean into the shovel to unearth yet another pile of dirt, when Clary's voice cuts cleanly through my concentration.

"**Did he suffer?"**

Her eyes are intent on me, as I look up to meet them. They are darkened with sadness, and yet hold a certain curiosity.

"**What?"**

"**Simon. Did he suffer? Did the vampires hurt him?"**

I turn my head back to the patch of earth with pursed lips. I jam the shovel into the ground once more.

"**No. The blood death is not such a bad way to die. The bite drugs you. It is pleasant, like going to sleep."**

Except for the victims with any sense. For those who realize that their strength is waning, because death is imminent, the fear can be overwhelming. Like Simon here. He knew what we were. He knew what we would do. And still . . . he came.

Clary looks faint. Her skin paler, even, than mine. I continue on in my endeavor, as her mind begins to stray. I block them out, so as to keep myself focused and unperturbed.

Simon lays beside me. His unmoving body seems almost peaceful. Almost.

I finish digging the grave quickly and thrust the shovel aside. I turn to Simon, taking him into my arms. I kneel down, and drop him into the hole. His body lands with a thud dying emptiness.

I begin to bury Simon within the earth, smoothing out the dirt over the grave with my boot. I look around as I do so. The shadowhunters approach me from beyond the hill.

I hadn't noticed their absence.

"**Jesus, it's cold,"** Clary says.

"**Be glad it isn't winter," **I say. **"The ground freezes like iron in winter. Sometimes it is impossible to dig and the fledgling must wait months, starving underground, before it can be born."**

"**Is that what you call them? Fledglings?"**

"**Yes. It means the not-yet or newly born."**

I glance at all of them, caught off guard at the sight of Magnus Bane. I school my features before continuing on.

"**High Warlock. I hadn't expected to see you here."**

"**I was curious," **Magnus explains with a flick of his wrist. **"I've never seen one of the Night Children rise."**

I suppose the occasion does call for some curiosity, although it is an ugly business. My eyes linger on the bright figure before turning to Jace.

"**You keep surprisingly illustrious company, Shadowhunter," **I say.

"**Are you talking about yourself again?" **His tone is mocking. **"That seems boastful."**

I open my mouth to reply. Of course that includes myself.

"**Maybe he meant me."**

I turn in surprise. The quiet one, who I believe to be something along the lines of Alex, has finally spoken. They all do at some point, and at another it becomes annoying.

The others seem to all be dumbfounded by this occurrence. I suppose his discretions linger even when in familiar company.

"**Sorry," **he mumbles, looking away. **"Nerves."**

A slow blush rises to his face. The sweet smell of blood only grows, tickling at my nose.

"**There's no need for that," **Magnus says, reaching for the boy.

His hands come up empty, as the boy moves out of reach.

"**So what do we do now?" **Clary asks, shivering slightly.

"**It is always cold at a rising." **And no, it has nothing to do with Jesus. **"The fledgling draws strength from the living things that surround it, taking from them the energy to rise."**

"**You don't seem cold."**

"**I'm not living."**

I smile without humor. For the truth lies within my hard flesh. I am dead inside if not out.

My attention turns back to the grave. I can already hear Simon's movements below me, as I step back from him.

"**Make room," **I say. **"Simon can hardly rise if you are all standing on top of him."**

They move away. Clary and Isabelle are having a hushed conversation in harsh tones, but I am no longer paying attention. My eyes zero in on the grave, the dirt starting to shake. The pounding of a fist sends tremors through my feet.

Suddenly the ground gives way, and caves in on itself. Simon's form bursts forth from the dirt. He claws and rakes his nails through it.

Clary calls out his name, and runs toward him. I catch her wrist and pull her back. Her stupidity would only lead to her death in this situation.

"**Let me go!" **She tries in vain to escape my grasp. **"Can't you see he needs our help?"**

She speaks to me as if I have not experienced this before. As if I had not gone through this very same ritual myself. Does she not realize that I have the expertise in this matter and she none?

Besides, what could a human do?

"**He should do this himself," **I say. **"It is better that way."**

"**It's your way! It's not mine!"**

With a final tug, she's free. I don't know how. She sure as hell is not stronger than me. Maybe I wasn't really trying. Maybe I wanted her to learn the hard way that things are done a certain way for a reason.

She darts toward the grave. Simon still scrambles within the dirt. His arms working endlessly. Finally his fierce efforts seem to be rewarded. He pulls himself free, the ground reluctant to let him go. His skin is coated in grime. He slumps to the ground with a groan.

"**Simon," **Clary says, approaching him.

"**Clary!" **Jace shouts. **"What are you doing?"**

Clary clumsily falls to her knees beside Simon. I can feel my muscles locking. It seems Simon may actually taste human blood so soon after rising.

"**Simon," **she whispers, reaching for him. **"Simon, are you-"**

I can already see it going wrong. He's smelling the blood. Her blood.

"**-all right?"**

I am unsurprised when he strikes her. His instincts must be screaming with the prospect of blood, only a thin layer of skin away. She falls back with a cry. He peers down at her with curious hunger. His fangs are already sliding out. He grabs her with unnecessary force. She wouldn't last very long in a fight against him.

I suppose it is time for me to step in. I rush forward so that Simon doesn't have enough time to notice. I bowl into him, and his body is flung from on top of her. Clary looks up into my eyes.

"**I told you to stay away from him."**

I crouch down beside Simon. He writhes on the ground feebly. I can hear Clary's quiet sobs behind me.

"**He doesn't know me."**

"**He knows you. He doesn't care." **I turn my gaze onto Jace. **"He is starving. He needs blood."**

Jace takes a moment to recover, before offering up the plastic bag. I pull it from his hand, and tear it open. Bags of red spill loosely from it. I rip away the sealing on one with my nails.

"Lástima que este no es humano," I mutter to myself.

Blood spurts out onto the front of my shirt, only dirtying it further.

"Joder."

He'll need all of it for his thirst to be quenched. Simon wails from the torturous scent of blood in the air and rolls about on the ground. His hands gouge the earth, as his eyes threaten to roll back in his head. I hold the blood over his face, while it spills out slightly on his cracked and dry lips. His tongue pokes out, searching.

"**There you go," **I say as if speaking to a child. **"Drink, little fledgling. Drink."**

Simon's eyes flit open. His hands wrap around of the bag of blood. I let him pull it from my grip. I watch as his teeth latch onto the packet.

The blood is gone in a few gulps. I snatch another from Jace's hands, before Simon attacks someone again.

"**Do not drink too fast," **I say with a small smile. **"You will make yourself sick."**

Simon, just as I had done, continues to drink feverishly. I slowly turn my head to look at the rest of them over my shoulder. Their looks of horror and disgust do not disturb me.

"**Next time he feeds," **I say nonchalantly, **"it will not be quite so messy."**

**)))**

**Simon's a vampire now and so the story begins. No more excerpts for awhile. **

**Review. Please.**

**Oh! And I wanted to thank the most recent reviewers that I have not personally emailed. That is completely my bad, and I apologize. It's been quite a week. I'm also not sure exactly who it is exactly that I'm referring to (I can't, for the life of me, remember when I posted the second chapter). Though I must say RonaldGarcia91, I appreciate the length and depth of your review. September thirteen is late.  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**Whoo, this is super late. I remember late last night that it was posting day, but I was in serious need of sleep. So today when I went to post this chapter, upon rereading it I realized I hated it. So up until now I've been rewriting it completely. This new draft has undergone some serious changes, which also means I didn't check for any mistakes. Sorry on that front and for my absurd lateness. I just forget throughout the course of the week.**

**Anyways this is the first chapter with Simon's POV as well as duel POV's. Simon is now a full blown vamp! Finally, right?**

**:-E:-E:-E:-E:-E:-E:-E:-E:-E:-E**

**Simon's POV**

I sit with my eyes closed in the back of Luke's truck. I can feel Clary's small frame against my shoulder with each rocking shutter of the engine. Her breath is shaky and hollow, and mine is nowhere to be found.

It's a weird sensation, not breathing. I feel like I'm forgetting to do something, but when I try to, I can't. I don't remember how. It's like forgetting how to talk. You always knew how to do it. You remember knowing howto do it, but it's gone now.

Long gone. Like . . . ah . . . dammit, Jim, I can't think of a witty reference.

Clary shudders suddenly against me, and I turn to her. Upon opening my eyes, I remember why they were closed in the first place. Everything is too bright. Everywhere I look, I have to squint. It's too much. It's too intense, too vivid. It's like my eyes have been closed for sixteen years, and I'm just now opening them for the first time. It _hurts._

I shut them again quickly and press my hands to my closed lids. I take a few hesitant moments to rid myself of the dancing spots.

"Are you okay," I mutter.

I can feel her breath shift, as she watches me. Her clothes rustle in my ear, as our skin makes contact. Her hand runs over mine. I flinch away from her with my hands still at my eyes.

"Simon?" she says.

I know her expression. Even without seeing it. I know it.

She's going to cry, and I can't do anything about it.

I can't let her touch me or be too close. I won't hurt her. Not again.

I almost killed her. And in that moment, I didn't care. I didn't care that I was about to kill my best friend. To _drink_ her.

What's wrong with me?

I clutch my hair and lean down into my legs, as the truck shivers to a halt. Everything is plunged into utter and complete silence.

"We're here," Luke says from inside the cab.

I look up slowly with squinted eyes. It's not so bad here without all the lights.

I leap out from the bed of the truck with my eyes already on the house. I step forward, but a small hand catches my wrist.

I turn my head to find Clary leaning out of the bed towards me. Her wild hair is outlined by the wilting moon.

"Simon, I'm sorry," she says pulling my hand towards her.

"Clary, I don't–"

My ears prick with the sound of the window rolling down. My eyes snap to Jace's face in the opening. His hair is mussed and heavy bags cling to his high cheek bones.

"You should probably head inside. You don't want to get caught out in the sun," he says.

His voice is strained and tired. No biting tongue or mention of my oh-so-popular nickname. Something about him appears drained.

Something not as golden.

I nod and stalk towards the house. My eyes seem to be adjusting when a blazing light rips through my line of sight. I cringe with a small cry putting my arms up to shield myself. I rush behind a bush and hold my face again, but I pause at the realization that I'm not ablaze and/or turning to dust.

The others watch me from the truck. I can see a tear slip down Clary's cheek, before I lope passed the beam of light.

The rattles away into the night, and I turn to watch it go. My muscles unclench, as I press towards the house. I skirt the pool of light like it's lava.

A faint chuckle hurtles through my careful sense of mind. I pull myself up short with all the tension back in my shoulders.

A sweet scent blows with the wind.

I hurl myself forward and into the house. I've never moved faster in my life, but, then again, I've only been a vampire for a night.

I stand at the window, peering out from between the curtains. Raphael steps out of the shadows with a solemn expression. He walks out onto the road, pausing halfway. His hands snake their way into his pockets.

"You can't hide from us, Simon," he says softly, but I can still hear it.

I can hear everything.

Raphael's POV

Staring straight ahead, I pick my way around the various vampires lounging on the floor throughout Dumort's hallways.

They watch me, as my boots clink passed. Their lazy eyes turn up my way, as their stained nails click against the chipped tiles.

I am only vaguely aware of Lily extracting herself from a darkened corner. She follows closely behind me. I continue forward into one of the old lounges. One of the few rooms not as affected by the abandonment of the hotel. There's only a thin layer of dust, and the mold has yet to cover any of the walls.

I collapse onto a chaise with a crooked arm resting above my head. My left foot presses to the ground while the other hangs off the end. Dim light falls over the room, catching the faces of those who occupy the room. They gaze upon Lily and me with quiet amusement.

"Raph-."

"What did I tell you, Lily?"

"I-."

"I told you to always be careful."

Lily shuts her eyes and sighs deeply. "Yes, you told me to be careful–"

"So why," I say, running a finger over my nails, "am I still being forced to clean up your messes?"

"Do not blame me, Raphael."

"You knew his face. From that party I told you _not_ to go to." I turn my eyes on her.

"He was one mundane out of many. How was I to know?"

"I have already had to deal with two other incidents this week."

"Not so bad as last week," Lily says with a keen grin.

My hands pause, as my eyes find hers. "It's Tuesday."

Lily huffs out a long breath. She averts her eyes, wandering over to the faces of the others.

"It doesn't matter, Raph. I won't bow down to Shadowhunters."

My hands return to my temples. "Be quiet, Lily."

"Shadowhunters aren't law."

With a growl, I hurl myself forward. She takes a startled step back. I grab a hold of her jaw and press her back into the wall. I lean in closely to her face, while the others hiss and claw the air behind us. A good killing is always quite a show around here.

"I said, be. Quiet." I watch her face for a moment. "Understand?"

She nods with a tight smile on her lips. I let go, thrusting her back against the decaying wall. She slides down into a crouch with a choked laugh at her lips.

"Mmm, I love it when you're rough with me, Raphael."

I slump back down on the chaise, resuming my position. She watches me, as she crawls back onto her feet, running a hand through her long, raven hair.

"So the boy didn't make it then?" she says.

My eyes shift toward her briefly. "No, he did."

"I thought for sure he wouldn't."

"There's something strong about this one."

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**I feel like I had something to say here, but I can't quite remember. Something that starts with an 'r' and ends with a 'w'. Yeah I think that's right. Maybe it could eventually end with an 's'. Yeah that would be nice.**


	5. Chapter 5

**I think three weeks was long enough. Or was it four? Either way I've been out of ideas, out of time, for the majority of it. I'd apologize but that would mean I could never do anything of the sort again, and I can't promise that. **

**Does anyone else feel a little downtrodden from the recent posts on Cassandra Clare's tumblr. Or maybe not so recent. But I recall a certain few posts from maybe a few weeks back or maybe closer. My sense of time is always a little off. But the impending sense of death in them is shattering. "Basically everyone dies." Well who's someone you don't think of as dying? Immortals. My thinking automatically goes to Magnus, which is heartbreaking. Some part of me doesn't want to read it, but I'm already 5/6 of the way in. I can't turn back now. Or maybe Raphael, who I love just as much. Or maybe the snippet from the actual text in which (I believe) the death of Alec is hinted at clearly. But then again it could not be doing so at all. My instincts might be all wrong. It could just be a ploy to wet our curiosity and our need to know. I don't want to get anyone worked up, but I just can't tell if I'm being paranoid or realistic. No matter how loved, every main character has to die, especially in a war setting.  
**

**Enjoy**

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******Simon's POV**

I wake the next morning to bomb blasts. I shudder under the blankets with the feeling I've been dropped into London during World War II (yes, Ms. Irey, I remember). It comes again, stabbing through my veins, but this time it comes with my mother's voice. I cannot hear, because everything else is too loud. It sounds distant, and it echoes. I curl into myself, covering my ears. I clench my teeth against it.

"Stop," I whisper.

I can feel it coursing in through my ears and down to my toes. It circulates through me. I sense it like a snake inside of me.

"Stop."

The burn is everywhere. It's in the air. It's in my skin. It's in my eyes. They burn over and tears spill out. I can feel them run down smeared with a drip of snot.

"STOP!"

The scream rips through my throat without any warning from my brain.

The door bursts open, and I shoot up in my bed.

"Simon! Simon? What's wrong?"

I blink slowly, trying to wash away the blurs. The world spins for a millennium. I can feel arms come around me, before I can see them. I blink again, leaning into the soothing scent of blood.

"Mom," I mutter.

"What's wrong, Simon? Are you alright?" she says, running a hand through my hair.

"Yeah . . . I think I . . . I just wasn't . . . ready."

I inhale deeply against her collar. I can feel my teeth adjusting. My eyelids droop, as I shift closer.

"Simon, are you breathing alright?"

My eyes snap wide, and I'm frozen for a moment. I'm kneeling in her arms with my fangs out.

I fling myself back against the wall off the bed. My fangs tuck themselves away. Usually, in any type of stressful situation like this, I'd be breathing. Hard.

"Simon?" she asks crawling off the bed.

She reaches out for me, and I scramble away from her seeking hands. I clutch the doorknob from my spot on the floor, turning it frantically.

"Mom, I–ah–gotta pee!" I say, finally making the turn.

I lunge forth through the opening like a clown was behind me. Only to feel another fiery sting to my flesh. There are three windows lining the hall. All of which house the sun in a frame of old, gray wood.

I gulp quickly before making my plunge. I charge forward feeling the same sensation with each step, each swing of the arm. Two times it lingers. Two times I cry out.

Reaching the bathroom, I close my eyes finally coming to the door from Hell.

But there's a demon in my living room. Or half demon. Or whatever.

He stands, tall and lean, studying an old floral urn. Sandy Granny is waiting just below the surface.

Glitter practically coats him from head to toe. He gleams with bright colors and patterns that hurt my eyes more than the sun.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

His green, gold cat's eyes land on me. He regards me with curious expression, much like the one he was using to study the jar.

"Hello works too, you know," Magnus says.

" . . . Hi?"

I stick closely to the wall.

"I would've come at night. I know how fragile you are at this time of day, but I'm all booked with appointments later. There was no other time I could fit you in," he says.

"Yeah I'm sure. One big long appointment with a guy named Alec Lightwood," I murmur.

"What was that?" Magnus's eyebrow quirks.

I shake my head, but I can't help the grin. "Nothing."

"Would you two like anything to eat?" my mom says coming into the room.

She gives me an apprehensive once over, before she pins on a smile.

"No, thank you, Darling," Magnus says with a charming smile. "Your mother was kind enough to welcome me inside and keep me company while you . . . _slept_."

"It was no problem. Magnus is great company. You should have him over more. He seems to actually have some braincells unlike some of your other friends. Here," she says, handing over my glasses, "you left these on your side table."

"Oh . . . thanks."

I slide them on, as she leaves the room. And she's never had better timing, because my eyes automatically flare. Every speck of anything is visible on the lenses. I can see my old fingerprints and hers. A crack in the upper right left lense. As well as the rest of the room, it's all magnified, and I reach out for it. Like a zombie, and I sway with a sudden feeling of vertigo.

I am released from the trance with the removal of the eyeglass wear. I am met face to face with Magnus whose mouth is crooked in one corner.

"What?" I say, blinking again.

"Come on. Let's go to your room," is all he says.

" . . . to my room? Why?"

"I'm not trying to rape you. I brought you _something _that you might want."

"What are you talking about?"

"Just lead me to your room already."

But as Magnus shifts, I can hear it. I can hear the swish of liquid . . . moving.

The sudden undeniable smell of blood crawls up my nostrils. And now the nagging sensation pin pricking at my mind comes into painful focus.

Blood. Blood. Blood. Thirst-quenching, mouthwatering, undeniable, super mega awesome foxy hot blood.

I stare at the bag hanging from Magnus's arm, clinging to the strength that keeps me from ripping it open and taking the contents from within. That bag which holds everything that's important to me now. _Everything_ that matters.

Because I'm a vampire.

"Earth to Simon," Magnus says boredly.

He waves a glittery hand in my face. I try to ignore it but find that I can't. I'm staring again, but not at the bag . . . at his hand. I catches it in my own.

I study all the wrinkles and creases on it. I see them now. All the things I hadn't noticed before . . . I see them. Like the tiny scar on his left palm. Or the faint hairs dusting the tops of his fingers.

"Simon," Magnus hisses.

But my eyes have turned to a single speck of glitter. I am automatically transfixed by its glow.

Magnus grabs my arm and tugs, but I don't budge. I don't even move. He grits his teeth trying to pull me out of my trance.

Only when I feel a shock run up my arm, do I jump. I clutch it to my chest, rubbing where the skin sizzled. Magnus watches me with slitted eyes.

"What was that for!" I shout.

"Just take me to your room, Simon." Magnus sighs.

I lead him back to my room. He closes the door behind us. I watch him, waiting for my blood.

"Well it's awfully dark in here," Magnus says.

"Yeah. I guess it is. Sorry," I say distractedly.

I flick on the lamp on my bedside table. Magnus drops the bag onto my bed. I watch it intently. The sound of sloshing liquid makes my eyes roll back and a purr rumble in my throat.

"You have somewhere to put these right?" Magnus says.

My eyes flicker open and focus on him. I'd almost forgotten he was here with the intoxicating scent of blood to distract me.

"Oh . . . yeah, right. I . . . uh have a mini-fridge in the corner," I say.

"Well this should be enough for about a week . . . that is if you conserve it."

"That might be a little difficult."

"Look it's not that easy to get blood. Not with the other vampires around here and the ridiculous amount of money I had to slip the guy to get it."

"I get it. I get it."

"Good. But if it's an emergency, call me."

"But I don't have your number."

In a flash a piece of paper appears in his hand. He hands it to me. The paper is streaked with rainbow stripes and the number's written in gold.

"Well if that's everything . . . I should go."

Magnus slinks to the door. I nod silently to myself. He reaches the door and pulls it open.

"Magnus," I blurt out.

He pauses and turns back to me questioningly. I stare at him cursing myself for a moment. He slowly raises his eyebrows.

"Uh . . . thanks. Thank you," I say quickly.

"My pleasure," Magnus says sarcastically with a lazy bow.

He turns once more towards the doorway to leave.

"Magnus?"

"What?" he sighs turning to face me.

"How did you–how did you deal with it? How did you . . .?" I shake my head.

"What are you talking about? Everything about me is perfect," Magnus says dryly.

His eyes flit back to my face. I watch him desperately, biting my lip. His expression turns serious. He stares at me for a long time before answering.

"There's nothing wrong with being a downworlder. And there's no getting over it or used to it. It's just _being_. Just do whatever it is you vampires do."

"I've been human for too long. I don't know how to be a vampire."

"I'm sure it's something along the lines of sleeping, fucking, and eating, which sounds a lot like human lives to me."

"What if they all hate me? . . . What if my mom finds out?"

"They won't." Magnus's eyes darken.

Magnus turns once more to leave. I take a step towards him.

"How?"

"Because you'll make sure they don't."

"But my mom. She'll–"

"You better hope she doesn't," Magnus says with his eyes glinting.

"But I–"

"Trust me. No good will come of it. Ask any one of them. They'll all tell you the same. In this world, lying is your best ally. Lay low but lie high."

I stare at his back in horror, because Magnus is already retreating from the room. He pauses to glance back at me.

"Drink some blood, Simon. You're looking a little pale."

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******Yeah, Magnus is a little curt.**

******Review your displeasure.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Yeah, I'm late again. Sorry.  
**

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I never thought I'd be back here again. Not in a million years. Not even a billion.

It seems forbidden to me. Even now. Even as I stand before it.

I shouldn't be here.

I know that for sure. With every bone in my body and every instinct guiding me, I know. And yet I'm here. Still here.

Hotel Dumort stands as tall and foreboding as ever. I can almost feel the eyes from above. It reminds me of that song "Somebody's Watching Me" by Rockwell.

"Simon."

And after I run through a few lines in my head, my eyes snap to Raphael's face. He stands ahead of me, beckoning me forward. I pause, not knowing what to do. Every time I've come here it's been a series of unfortunate events.

I shouldn't be here.

It's like that place that's forbidden to you or has been for so long that when you're allowed inside you still feel the need to stay away.

"Simon." Raphael's voice is sharp. "They're waiting."

I nod once, but my resolve is a little less decided. Not just from my gut feeling, but for lack of a door.

"How–how do we get in?" I ask.

Raphael looks up at the building. His eyes rest on the highest window. He stretches a hand up towards the mottled and cracked exterior of the hotel. His fingers jab into its side, slipping through its old skin. Raphael proceeds to haul himself up and scuttles along the wood.

Now this all seems hilarious from an outsiders view the way Raphael seems more like Spiderman in this moment than a bloodsucking demon from Hell.

But I must say, the idea of doing the same is not something I'd ever really like to attempt. I mean I'm not afraid of heights . . . I'm just afraid of falling.

And of this place. And of the vampires in it.

I think it's my time to leave, but his voice calls me back.

"Simon."

I swivel towards him looking up. He's perched on the windowsill, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. His cross dangles before his chest.

"Isn't there a door somewhere? Yeah, I think I'll go find one," I call up.

"The way is shut."

I can't help my smile. Kind of ironic, too. _It was made by the Dead, and the Dead keep it._ Sadly I don't have Aragorn's sword or his lineage. But LOTR aside, I'm not really trying to get in. I glance around with a tentative look.

"Simon," he says soothingly.

My eyes flit to him on his perch. His smile is content, but I can sense his impatience.

"But I couldn't . . . climb this?" my voice makes it a question.

"You can. Follow my trail."

His voice is reassuring but not like a parent to a child who doesn't want to ride a roller coaster. It's more pedofile-ish.

But I guess that works for me, because I start to clamber up towards him.

Once I reach him, he offers me a hand. I take it, and he pulls me inside. I land with a creak and dust off my pants. When I look up, Raphael is already stalking down the hallway towards the door at its end.

And I begin to understand how deep the shit that I'm stepping in really is, so . . . I start to talk. And everyone knows what happens, when I do that.

"You know, haunted houses aught to learn a thing or two from Hotel Dumort. They really capture the whole creepy-beyond-belief vibe. It's almost thrilling," I trill on like a flute, because my voice raises a few octaves, when I'm nervous.

Raphael doesn't so much as glance back at me. He continues on his path through this dump of a maze.

We come to a stop in a large room with the tallest of ceilings. The floor is layered in dust and grime. Pieces of the ceiling lay on the disfigured marble.

"I mean if a fake monster-doll-dummy-thing popped out right now, I might just take a load off . . . in my pants," I finish lamely.

"How about a real one?" a voice says in my ear, as arms come around my neck.

With my eyes widening, I turn my head to face a woman who is not unattractive. She grins at me like Satan herself. I stumble back away from her.

"Quit teasing him, Lily. He's sensitive," Raphael says with a lopsided smile.

She detaches herself from me, and steps towards him.

"What took you so long, Raph? We were starting to get hungry."

Her fangs leap forward, as she smiles. I start to back away. This feels wrong. But before long my back hits something.

More vampires have escaped from the shadows. They shove and jaw at me. The previously silent room turns into Yankee Stadium. Except totally weird and everyone's a vampire. So completely different but same noise level.

"Alright," Raphael says softly, and the noise dies like I'm about to. "It seems we have a new recruit."

Whoops and hollers erupt around me, and I tremble like a leaf.

"And I think you all know what that means," Raphael continues.

Little chitters of sound circulate the horde around me. There's an excitement here that I certainly don't reciprocate.

Raphael leans into Lily's ear with a whisper on his lips. She beams, throwing up her arm. She gestures off into the crowd with beckoning fingers.

They part like the red sea, but instead of Moses, five people with bags over their heads stumble through. And with an inhale of breath, I know they are human. I can feel their heartbeats and hear their blood.

The vampires surrounding them prod them along towards the center. Raphael watches with his arms crossed, and Lily is glued to his side with manic delight on her face.

I've never wanted to throw up more in my life.

The humans kneel on the ground with Raphael at their backs.

The cheering starts up again, but it sounds like chanting.

"Simon."

Raphael beckons me forward, but I am frozen. They cannot be about to do what I think they are about to do.

Lily comes around at my back. She guides me forward to stand in front of the human in the middle.

Raphael turns to address the rest of them. "Friends, welcome to the bloodletting," he says outstretching his arms.

I can see their mouths drop open in delight, and I can feel the vibrations of their voices, but I cannot hear them. The world has gone silent for me, as I stare down at these shaking figures. Their heads turn as if searching for an escape, which is something I desperately wish for. Lily watches me carefully.

"Simon." . . . "Simon."

His voice calls me back. My head moves to face him.

"You will drink from these humans," he says.

"That's murder," is all I can spit out.

"Think of it more as initiation. Besides, _you _won't be killing them. We all will." His eyes turn on his clan. "I realize our supply is limited, but we'll just have to take turns."

"The shadowhunters–!"

"Haven't noticed before. As well as these being willing participants."

"Who would ever do this?"

"Let's just say they aren't the best at reading contracts."

"This is wrong."

"Are we so disgusting to you, Simon?"

I can hear his anger. He steps forward grinding his teeth. His hand crashes down on a bag. He rips it off, as the person beneath gives a muffled scream. Her eyes are wide as discs. If it still could, my heart would be pounding. I'd be sweating, too.

"But as tradition goes, I must have the first drink," Raphael says.

He bends over, leaning towards the girl. Her eyes are locked on me. Raphael is watching me, too. Just like Lily and all the others.

Raphael clamps down on her throat. She twists away from him with a choked whimper, but Raphael holds her fast.

I can feel myself falling, but the scene before my eyes isn't changing.

After what seems like an eternal second, Raphael releases her. She slumps forward like a ragdoll.

Raphael's eyes have grown wide and wild. I can now see the animalistic glint in them. He's waiting for me. They all are.

"Drink, Simon," he says.

"No, I can't . . . I can't," I whisper backing away.

"Drink. You must drink."

"No, no . . . I can't. No . . . No."

"Drink now."

Lily steps forward, reaching towards me. I turn from her to run, but they're all blocking my way.

"Drink, Simon!" Raphael shouts from behind me.

I can feel Lily's hands on me like claws on my skin. Everything is too loud. Too out of focus.

And I'm moving. I burst through the crowd, shoving and pushing. They grab at me, but I refuse to be shaken from my path. I lunge forward and scramble up the wall towards some boards where the moon's light showed through. I tear them free with fear racing up my spine. I thrust myself against the glass and feel it break under me. I'm outside, and everything is moving, including me.

I sprint down the street with no thought other than to get home. I do not even look back. I am running, and nothing will stop that. Not now at least.

The sight of home seems long awaited but coupled with sweet relief. I fling the front door open and slide to the floor once it's closed again.

I would've been happier to be home if the lights weren't on.

I crawl to my feet stepping around the corner to the living room. My mom is seated in the couch across from me. Her 'I'm angry' face is firmly in place, and her arms are crossed.

"Where have you been, Simon?" she asks in that 'you're in big trouble, but I'm still going to be calm about it' voice.

"Um . . . I don't know. The . . . store," I say offhandedly, still reeling from almost playing a part in five murders.

"You know I don't believe that, Simon. You tell me the truth right now, or I'll have no choice but to ground you and take away your games."

"I don't— . . . I can't," I say quietly with my eyes glued to the floor.

"What's wrong with you? Why are you acting so strange? Are you doing drugs? I knew you being in that band was—"

"No, mom, I don't . . ."

"–a bad idea."

"I don't do drugs."

"And why is your hair so mussed? Are you having sex, Simon?"

"I've never . . . had sex."

My voice is distant, too distant. Usually I'd guffaw at such a question, but my mind's not exactly _here _yet.

My mom's brow furrows, and she steps closer to me. Her hands come up to clasp my upper arms.

"You can tell me anything, Simon."

My mind catches up, but it's still wheezing. My eyes snap up to meet hers.

"No, I really can't, mom."

Something in her eyes crumbles.

"What are you talking about?"

A tear runs the length of her cheek.

"You know what? I'm really exhausted. I just . . . I just really need to sleep," I say, shaking her off.

I stalk back to my room and collapse onto my bed. I sit on the edge staring at my phone.

Before I can change my mind, it's in my hand, and I'm dialing a number.

"Simon?"

A wave of relief washes away my guilt and my fear.

"Clary." I breathe her name.

"Why haven't you been answering my calls?" I can almost hear her stamp her foot.

I can't help the smile, when I say, "I've been off vampire-ing."

"Whatever that means . . . I'm just glad you want to talk."

"Yeah . . . It's good to hear your voice."

Despite my smile, something in me breaks. I choke on the water in my eyes.

"Simon, what's wrong?"

"I'm just . . . really scared," I say around tears.

"I'll be over in a second."

"Clary!"

"What! What happened?"

"Just don't hang up. Don't leave me."

"Okay, Simon. I won't hang up . . . I won't leave you."

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**Review or don't. Either's cool.**


	7. Chapter 7

**I'm posting early in apology for my otherwise erratic updates (which means I may or may not add a chapter on Friday). I was still working out some kinks. I realize there will always be some. Looking at it now, I'm finding problems with the storyline and pace. I might end up rearranging chapters, but I'm not planning on dealing with that for the time being. **

**I'm iffy on this chapter. It's missing that I can't quite place. Either way, enjoy if you can.**

****I cringe at the thought of what kind of maple syrup they're using (ugh, chills).**

**Oh and to . . .**

**cecld16: This one's for you.**

**and . . .**

**RonaldGarcia91: That's something I thought about too actually. I think it could very likely be a trick, especially because Simon doesn't have the Mark of Cain anymore. Either way it'll be a heart breaker.**

**PS I love reading your reviews!**

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**Raphael's POV**

My ring finger runs along my lower lip coming up with blood. I regard it silently for a moment. Its sticky, sweet scent teases my incisors. I bring my finger to my mouth, and it's gone.

The rest of them are looming about. Some dispose the bodies; others head out for part two of their nightly adventures.

"Your fledgling's feisty. I like him," Lily's voice purrs to my left.

"I don't know if I'd call it that."

"Lighten up, Raph. He's just a baby."

I stare darkly at the shattered window and the broken floorboards below it.

"What are you thinking?" Lily asks.

"I'm thinking he's going to cause us trouble, if we're not careful about this."

"Are you going to kill him?"

"No, not until I have to. This is going to take some coaxing."

"Do you think he'll tell them? About the bloodletting, I mean."

"No, I don't think he will."

"Why not?"

"Because he was as much a part of those murders as we were. And . . . there's something about me he trusts."

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**Simon's POV**

When I woke up, it was about four in the afternoon. At least it felt that way.

I rub my hand over my eyes roughly and slip out of bed, landing on all fours. I crawl out the door and into the hallway. It smells like french toast and cinnamon. So . . . like french toast.

I make my way to the kitchen, avoiding the sunspots. The smell deepens, as I edge closer.

My mom and Clary stand at the counter in the various stages of french toast making. Clary dips the bread, while Mom tosses it into the pan.

I straighten immediately into a standing position upon seeing Clary. She giggles, apparently catching me in the act.

"Hey, Simon," she says.

"Hey."

My mom's eyes flicker up towards me with some apprehension, but she brushes that aside with a warm smile. She's in front of me in a matter of seconds and pulling me into a hug just as quickly. I am caught off guard and not as quick to reciprocate. Just when I do, she's pulling away again, but her hands are still on my arms.

"How are you, sweetheart? Did you sleep well?" she asks.

"Yeah I g–."

"Good! I thought I'd make you your favorite! How does french toast sound?"

"Great," I say half-heartedly.

"Good! Now if you'll excuse me, I have to pee! Would you be a dear and take over for me, Simon?"

She bustles off to the bathroom without an answer. I stand there for a second, reeling from that attack, before I make my way into the kitchen where Clary is still busy at work.

"That seemed a tad much," she comments with an undercut glance.

"You think?" I mutter flipping the toast.

She smiles and bumps my hip with hers. I stumble a little but can't find the courage to do it back. After crying in her arms for hours last night, my manliness is feeling a little off balance, and I'm not sure 'hip-bumping' is going to change that. It seems awkward silence and a background of sizzling grease is more suitable.

"Clary, I–"

"Simon, you'll burn that!" my mom says returning from the bathroom.

She takes my place in front of the stove, and I step aside gratefully.

"Okay, I think we're all set," my mom says.

I grab some plates and cutlery. My mom piles on the french toast. I can feel myself grimacing at the sight. Clary heads into the living room, while I make my way down the plank behind her.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" my mom says reaching for some glasses. "Clary, would you like something to drink?"

"Orange juice, please!" she replies.

I smile, loving that she doesn't even have to ask what we have.

"Would you like some orange juice, too, Simon?"

"No," _yes_.

I cringe, as my stomach grumbles.

"Oh, alright. Well eat up, sweetie!"

I frown down at the plate of food, knowing full well I'll have to eat this. I'd managed to avoid this moment for so long, it seemed it would never come. I usually just dumped it out the window, but that's because I hadn't actually had a meal _with_ my mom since I'd been turned.

My mom plops down in an armchair, while Clary and I sit on the couch.

"How is it?" she asks with an expectant smile.

"Great!" I say, throwing caution to the wind and stuffing some in my pie hole.

I can feel the corners of my mouth curving down. It's almost sad how something previously thought to be divine, could now be disfigured into something so revolting. I glance up to see if anyone's noticed. My mom munches away carelessly, but I do a double take at the look Clary's giving me. I could be eating worms from the look on her face. Although that's pretty much what it feels like.

"Clary," I say warningly, nudging her and gesturing towards my mom with my head.

"Oh," she says, looking away and taking a bite.

"You two are acting strange," my mom says with narrowing eyes.

Clary and I both smile innocently around our mouthfuls of food. My mom looks between us once more, before she shrugs.

"All right, how about a little TV?" she says.

With the remote in hand, she presses the power button. A news anchor appears on the screen.

_"As of the five bodies found this morning, it is just coming in that they have been identified. Among them are Jackson Phillips, Vanessa Arnold, Katelyn Greenberg . . ."_

But I don't need to hear anymore, because as each name is read, a picture appears, and I know Katelyn Greenberg's face. She's the one from Dumort. The one I was supposed to kill. I don't even comprehend the last two names. My body has gone still, and I'm not pretending to breathe anymore.

Clary reaches for me, already sensing my tension.

"Simon, are you-?"

I shoot up from my seat. "I need to use the bathroom."

_"Our hearts and prayers go out to the families and friends of these victims."_

I slam the door behind me and flip on the light. I brace myself against the sink and press my forehead to the mirror.

The worst part isn't that I felt something inside of myself that wanted to drink her blood, but that I ran from them.

I don't know how much good I would've been, but I didn't even think to try.

I didn't fight for them, and they were helpless.

Without a knock, I feel Clary brush past me into the tiny space. I can almost feel her chest against me, as she stands at my back.

"Simon, are you okay?" she asks peering into the mirror.

"Yeah," I say quietly, "it's the french toast."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Well I know something's up, but if you're not ready to tell me, I'll just wait."

She sits down on the toilet, crossing her legs and places her hands over her knee. I turn my head slightly, glancing down at her with a faint smile.

"Oh? And how do you _know_ 'something's up'?"

She looks at me with a sharp grin. "My girlfriend senses were tingling."

My smile widens, as I turn to her. I bend forward to press my forehead to hers. _That _is my new favorite word.

"Thank you, Clarissa Fray," I whisper.

"Didn't you hear? It's Fairchild now," she says with a smile.

"Doesn't matter, thank _you_."

"For what?" she whispers back.

"For always knowing how to make me feel better."

I place a quick kiss on her lips, because many a times have I contemplated the idea that were we to engage in a heated make out, I would accidentally pierce her with my unpredictable fangs.

"Now go," I say, "before my mom thinks we're any weirder."

Clary squeezes my hand and steps outside. Just before closing the door, she gives me one last smile. I return it, but once the door closes I can feel it drooping. My feelings of comfort plummet along with the corners of my mouth. I sink down on the toilet . . . feeling down in the dumps! Hah!

But it seems not even that can cheer me up. I could be a murderer, after all. Just call me Simon the murderer. Simon the vampire murderer. Not that I murder vampires, but that I am a vampire as well as a murderer.

Uhh . . .

I slip to the floor curling up into a ball.

This is hardly one of my better days.

When I finally muster the strength to leave, I find the living room empty.

"Simon?" my mom calls from the kitchen.

"Yeah?" I say stepping around the corner.

"Clary, had to go see her mother at the hospital. What a shame? She's such a great woman. I hope she's better soon."

But her words slide off of me, as if I were covered in never wet anti water spray. I turn with my eyes on the ground and make my way back to my room, not minding the occasional burning sensation, as I pass a window.

I throw myself down on the bed like a bad porno. I feel angry, but I'm not entirely sure why. What I do know is that I need Clary. When I told her to go, I meant out of the bathroom not my house.

But now as I sit alone, I find myself thinking, and that brings Katelyn's face spiraling back to me.

I slam my head into my pillow and yell as loudly as I can, but I throw it aside when nothing happens.

I wanted my throat to burn. I wanted it to burn for what I had done. I want to burn.

And that's when my eyes land on the heavy curtains before my window.

I push myself off of the bed and start towards it. My hands push aside the drapes. Already I can feel the uncomfortable heat. I thrust window open and find myself shying away from it, but my hand is already reaching.

What about Clary?

What would she do without you? She needs you? Hell, she even let you become this before losing you.

What about your mom?

And Rachel–?

But my thoughts are sliced in half by the searing pain in my palm. I fly back, falling against the end of my bed. I lay on the ground, clutching my fingers.

"Motherfucking, cocksucking piece of shit!" I scream.

I roll onto my hand, curling into it.

"Ow. Ow . . . Ow."

Well even my suicide attempts are pathetic.

I look at my hand. The skin is charred and bubbles in places. It looks something like Dumbledore's hand after he deals with the horcrux ring.

I'm barely fast enough to conceal it, when my mom bursts through the door.

"Are you okay, Simon? I heard some very colorful language from the kitchen . . . Why are you laying on the floor?"

**********:-E********:-E********:-E********:-E********:-E********:-E********:-E********:-E********:-E********:-E********:-E********:-E********:-E********:-E********:-E********:-E********:-E********:-E**

**Excuse Simon. He has such an awful way with words. I wasn't entirely sure if Simon would become a potty mouth in certain situations, so I went with the safe option and made him one anyway! **


End file.
